Powdered Clouds
by inhaleo0oexhale
Summary: What happens when Hermione Granger confiscates something...but doesn't turn it in? Interesting Read. Updated Regularly. Currently Incomplete.
1. Chapter 1

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

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Hermione Granger sat on the plush crimson sofa, staring into the fire. It crackled and hissed a biting taunt. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, making them blur and double the fireplace in her vision. What was she going to do? She knew what she _should _do, but what she could do was a whole different case. She tucked her hand into the inner pocket of her robe lining. Hermione counted off the reasons why she was in a sticky situation, even thinking about the possibilities.

She knew that the Ravenclaws used it regularly and sold it to other fifth and sixth years.

She knew it wasn't a poisonous, illegal, or banned by school rules or the Ministry. Just frowned upon.

She knew she should have taken the item directly to McGonagall for testing and confiscation.

She knew that it was now her badge on the line, since she hadn't reported the item immediately and if she went now, someone was bound to question the timing reason.

She knew no one would know, considering she put a mild confundus charm on Harold Dingle.

But here she was, feeling guilty. Her body felt tainted, sticky with dread and anticipation. This could be a good thing. No one would ever notice, her grades would be above what studying could do. And technically, this was boosting her brain, amplifying the knowledge already there…not cheating.

Hermione Granger never cheated on anything in her life. She was a hard-working muggleborn, struggling to change the viewpoints of bigots by competing with the brightest from the bottom up. She was here to make an impact, change lives in the future and hopefully reform the ministry one day to be more forward-thinking and open-minded. High hopes, but her Head of House had already worked out her career paths and felt she'd make the most impact by working in The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures by redefining the definitions that categorize the three divisions as well as merging the liaison offices for Centaur and Goblins by being more understanding and considerate of their society's culture. She was here to do more than get house elves paid. She wanted werewolves to be seen as beings, not beasts that were classified as dangerous. She wanted half-breeds to be taught at a young age about their two cultures, and the social stipulations attached to being someone who is not purely one breed. She wanted spirits to be exorcised humanely, not forcibly ripped from their attachments, covered in sorrow and anchored to a place they begin to haunt angrily.

She fished out the item, so small and engulfed by her black, velvety robes.

A silver claw, the side of a lizard's foot, gripped a glass orb. In that small marble was a finely crushed powder, white as Scotland snow. Hermione's body shook a quiet tremble, rippling a wave of exhilaration through her bones. This would be a good thing. She'd be helping others more than helping herself. Harry would understand, and she already knew Ron was all for it. Being a pureblood, he did not see magically enhancing his senses as cheating, like muggles did for steroids. But Harry would understand, because she wasn't doing this to be selfish. This was about ensuring the future of magical London as a haven for magic, like it was so long ago, when the muggles persecuted witches and wizards. She could singlehandedly change the very nature of the streets of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade by slowly incorporating compassion into the laws that bind the viewpoints of the people they dictate. This was for them. It was only for one test, to secure the knowledge she already possessed. Hermione compared it to felix felicis, except the nauseating dangers of side effects such as delirium and recklessness were almost nonexistent in dragon claw powder. Felix felicis also had the unsavory possibility of addiction, a deep dark yearning for the unattainable glory and thrill of controlling one's fortunes.

She lifted the small dragon foot replica to her face and twisted the orb slowly, carefully to not spill the powder. The claw glistened in the fire's glow, burning a flashing silver, beckoning her. She had read carefully, thoughtfully. She knew the usage, the side effects, the methods of application, the dosage, probably more than any Mediwitch or Healer at St. Mungo's. Harold had said he preferred dabbing the dust behind his ear, at the soft nape below his earlobe. It apparently caused a pleasant chill that soothed the headaches caused by over-studying. He also said that some of the Ravenclaw boys preferred sniffing the powder, saying it smelled like amortentia in the early brewing process.

She looked around, darting a glance in all directions of the barren common room. She raised the glass marble to her nose and inhaled deeply as fast as she could with a puff. The powder was so fine it burned a trail of ice down her nose. She could taste the bitterness, like meat smoked with brimstone, in the back of her throat. A cough. She muffled it with her robes, eyes watering and nose dribbling onto the cloth. She choked out a few breaths, and a few minutes of labored breathing was enough to get her situated correctly. There was no lingering saccharine smells of syrupy love, just a nauseating blizzard in her nasal passage and stale thestral breath after devouring half-rotted pork chops on her tongue.

Hermione Granger went to bed immediately. Her scalp tingled with expectation, nostrils blazed icy hot lava, and her head hurt like a bludger collided with it. She didn't dare go to the Hospital Wing that night, not even when she woke up to run to the bathroom and purge the Brunswick stew she had for dinner. She wept on the cobblestone floor, from agony and regret. Sleep came furiously once her stomach ceased the tumultuous roaring.

She eventually woke up an hour later than expected. When she did manage to make her body sit upright, her room mates were gone and the common room was empty. She shook herself into overdrive, hurriedly preparing her books and throwing on a wrinkled robe. She rushed into the stone halls, feet making a frantic pattering as she made her way to Double Potions in the dungeons.


	2. Chapter 2

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

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The first thing she noticed was that the halls were unnaturally empty. She paid no mind, because a haphazard tempus charm let her know classes were in session. She heaved the thick wood door of the dungeons with all her body weight, throwing it open enough to enter. She wondered if Snape spelled it to be heavier for late students, since it was always wide open when she got to class. She bit her lip and looked at her shoes as she waited for the barrage of insults to come hurdling towards her.

Hermione Granger was confused. Every desk was empty. Professor Snape was sick. Maybe there was a bug going around and she caught it. She couldn't really think of Dumbledore announcing an event, a change in schedule, or anything out of sorts that would have created this situation. She thought back to the night prior, she ate then went to bed immediately after completing her Ancient Runes assignment.

Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary for one exceptionally ordinary Hermione Granger.

She felt a nagging hysteria blossom in her belly. She was not going to worry though. There was always an answer, and she was going to get to the bottom of this. Maybe she overslept more than she thought and it was now weekends, where the students were at Hogsmeade. She set out to find her house head.

After a couple quick knocks, growing paranoia and anxiety began to tighten her chest. A few more knocks on the ornate oak door, more frantic than the last. Her finger traced a small chip in the wood, as she tried to be patient. "Relax Hermione", she thought while breathing to calm her voice. Where was everyone?

She tried the unlocking charm, desperate and nervous. Bile churned deep and molten. "This is so wrong, I'm breaking into her office," Hermione thought. But she had a good reason. Things weren't right, and dangerous things happened at Hogwarts when suspicious things were afoot. Hermione eventually gave up, as the charm caused the knob to glow a flaming orange and vibrate. It did not give in. Wards, she assumed.

Hermione took a deep breath that cooled her insides. She knew where to go. She went to look for the boys. Harry and Ron were her best friends and she needed to make sure they were safe. She knew far too well that trouble found them with ease. Then she could go to Headmaster Dumbledore, knowing they were together and he'd be more likely to believe this oddly suspicious day. She hoped he was there, but didn't expect much. First Snape, then McGonagall….. What if Harry and Ron-the entire school was empty except for her?

"Homenum Revelio", she breathed out, lungs heavy and ears ringing.

She felt a swooping feeling, like something draped over her.

Someone was here. Just one, but someone.

Hermione Granger wasn't fearless. Every single time they had faced danger, she had stood her ground bravely with a rabid curiosity that overcame her terror. She wanted to know who was here. What if it was Voldemort? Surely, he was capable of removing every known person in the castle through dark magic. Maybe he wanted to torture her for helping Harry all these years, and wanted to mugglebait her. A violent rush of emotions threatened to burst out of her pores. "Stop worrying, just go look", she muttered aloud. The hairs on her arms were still pin-straight, the knocking pulse deafening in her ears.

She disillusioned herself and walked slowly. She knew well enough she had to blend in for the spell to work. Her heart thud with each step, a slow and dull crawl. The school was far too big for her to search top to bottom. And with places that were restricted, moving, or secret like the castle seemed fond of having, Hermione needed to approach this practically without losing her head.

The library found Hermione Granger, warm and welcoming. The comfort she drew in from inhaling the aged leather bound books and brittle parchment pages overwhelmed her. She sat down, feeling weary in her bones. "How could everyone be gone?" came that soft whispering doubt. There was more to this than just disappearance. Something had happened. Maybe she was dreaming? Her hand traced the crackled cover of an old novel, a biography of Cornelius Agrippa. These sensations were too real, emotions too raw. She dismissed the idea.

After gathering strength, she began searching. First, she looked up magical phenomenon about disappearance, if this has ever happened before elsewhere. She searched for information on the famous Hogwarts wards for peace of mind, to make sure Voldemort and his Death Eaters weren't inside. She searched for a spell to reveal a pathway to someone, without alerting them of her presence. She looked for lucid dream characteristics, marking it off as quite real indeed. An idea struck her, and so she called for the house elves. Not a single 'pop' responded. Each book she skimmed, each chapter scanned, every venue or possibility was searched, attempted, discarded. Hermione Granger cried in the library, not for the first time, curled up invisible and alone.


	3. Chapter 3

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

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Her face was sticky. Her back cramped.

A hollowness had filled her by now, a sense of surreal quiet.

She had written a letter to owl her parents, asking them to immediately come get her using the Parental Protocol Portkey given to muggleborn parents in the event that their child is in danger or requiring a conference. They would be taken to the fields outside Hogwarts, viewing the castle as abandoned ruins. She could meet them there. Of course there was that nasty bilious feeling that came from failure. Hermione was at her wits ends. She wanted to stay and figure out things, contact the ministry of magic and alert them immediately. But the fears…the what-ifs tore her resolve down. What if the entire magical community was gone. She was so far out of her league, trying to solve a mystery too great for her to handle alone. She couldn't save people from an unknown foe and more unknown fate. The best thing for her to do, the most logical thing, was to get her parents to bring her home and from there they could go to London and seek help. She didn't dare ask the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest to help, didn't dare wander to find out if it was Voldemort or Umbridge waiting in a dark corner for her.

She checked the spell periodically, anxious to know if the person had disappeared too. After two hours, it seemed he or she was as stuck as she was and it made Hermione awfully curious. She had already gone to the owlery, disappointed to find not a single bird perched and waiting. As barren as the rest of the school. The hopelessness had begun to nibble away at her, fraying her edges with every minute that ticked by. It was late in the afternoon now. The sun was a dusty red mist in the skies, hovering just above the horizon. The letter was balled up in her hand, sweaty and distorted from constant fiddling. Her stomach was clenching with hunger now, but she knew with the elves gone and Gamp's Law, that it was impossible to get food. She went to the Herbology greenhouses and looked for something edible growing, with chances slim, leaving feeling slightly better from the puffapod plant that flowered when she accidentally breezed past it. She had been able to gather a handful of small black beans, hard and dry like river pebbles. They tasted metallic, like drinking ink, but they were considered edible and safe as far as she had been taught by Professor Sprout.

Far and often came the thought that whoever was out there was struggling as much as she was. It made things harder, increasing the temptation of seeking out the unknown person. She wondered if it turned out to be a friend far less capable of navigating hardship, such as Neville, whether or not she'd be consumed with guilt and regret for not acting upon instinct sooner and providing them with aid. Sadness pooled in her eyes, dribbling down her cheeks. How she missed her friends right now.

She made up her mind, as the sun set under the horizon leaving a hazy grey glow on the clouds.

"Whoever you are, I'm coming. Two heads are better than one." And so she set out to find the unknown person, blanketed by the cold comfort of being disillusioned.


	4. Chapter 4

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

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She decided to walk to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory where she was hit with a ripple of hesitation at seeing the empty portrait of The Fat Lady. Not a single portrait had a person in it. Animals, sure, along with the background image was complete. Neither Peeves nor single ghost was floating above in the dewy hallway rafters. Would she be let in without someone to accept a password? Hermione pushed the portrait with her toe, prodding it lightly to see if there were special wards intact. Nothing happened.

Raising a trembling hand, she opened the gateway to the familiar gold and red common room. Empty. A fire fizzled dimly, dying out slowly with scarlet embers flashing. Something tickled her brain, like she was missing an important piece of information. She mentally backtracked-had she forgotten something?

Dismissing it as ever-growing paranoia, she went to look for the Marauder's Map. Harry's map-she forgot she was supposed to look for them first! Hermione raced to his trunk, carelessly digging through layers of hand-me-down clothes, crumpled parchment, and a few scattered chocolate frog cards. She really could not believe how that had slipped her mind. They were her best friends-number one priorities. She had been so consumed with selfish trepidation and fear to wonder the fate of the two most important people she cared for. Guilt solidified in her veins, stopping her heart as she frantically scanned jumbled markings of charmed ink. No footprints paced; no names moved.

She pulled the map closer to her face, sitting on Ron's unmade bed. Eyes darted to every crevice, each room searched and repeated. Absolutely no name. No ghost, animagi, human or being. Not even the boys-hidden under the invisibility cloak, which the map could detect. Her mind went into overdrive, gears churning so fast that her ears burned.

Unplottable.

The person was in an unplottable room. Either they were in the Chamber of Secrets or the Room of Requirement. A shudder lifted the skin on her spine. Why was the person hiding? She recast the revealing charm, and again it let her know that there was one human nearby.

Hermione laid back in a flop. The bed bounced a bit, ruffling the resting scents of one Ronald Weasley. She could smell the lingering licorice and pumpkin juice smells from dinner he had smuggled up for a midnight snack. She ran her hand over the sheets, searching for a pillow to smother her face with. Crumbs grazed her skin, gritty from foods unknown. The plush pillow muffled her screams as she cried and wailed helplessly. How was she supposed to leave Hogwarts without saving her friends and mentors? How could she abandon an entire mystery, generations of magicals possibly stranded and in need of help? What was the reason for her sole existence here? What if something dark was brewing-or brewed and she was still simmering in the cauldron?

Her tears stained and soaked like torrential English rain. Bogies smeared and dripped like melted candle wax. "Please Hermione, you need to pull yourself together. Think!" begged the somehow coherent part of her conscience.

"I'm scared. I can't do this," was sobbed into the soggy pillow.

She looked back to the map, laying half draped but mostly hanging off the bed's edge. There was no way that she would manage the right combination of hisses to mimic Parseltongue to get into the Chamber. There was no way she'd willingly walk into the Room of Requirement without knowing who was inside. That would be foolish-she was brave, not dumb.

Hermione heaved herself into sitting position and cleaned her face with a shirt she summoned from Harry's open trunk. The trunk. She went to it, slowly peeling away layers of clutter and discarded clothes from the inside. She wondered where the invisibility cloak could be. The bottom was a thin wood, unnatural for the sturdy leather trunk craftsmanship. After prodding the edges, slowly prying the thin layer open, she sat heavily on her bottom, tears welling up again as she nibbled her lip.

Empty secret compartment. Empty rooms. Empty map. Empty portraits.

Her heart was empty. Her head was empty.

"Stupid brain. You're so good at memorizing facts but you can't think your way useful? Stupid, useless brain. Hermione Granger-dumbest witch of her age. If they could see me now. I can't do this. I'm no good at strategy, like Ron, or lucking my way through things, like Harry. Why me? Why am I the only one here?" she ranted heatedly, glaring at the items scattered on the floor as moisture burned her eyes. More incoherent words were rambled, each sentence fragment gaining more anger and desperation. Heat was climbing, eyelids steaming hot, pressure building in her veins, iceberg cold.

"I CAN'T DO THIS. I'M NOT SMART ENOUGH!" she screamed out. It echoed in her ears, bouncing off the stone walls and ringing in her empty head. Eerie silence buzzed. Her ragged breathing cut through it in harsh puffs. Sniffles inhaled back the escaping liquids pooling on her upper lip, as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

She crawled back to Ron's bed, ready to curl up and let time take her away. Blank eyes gazed blurrily at Harry's bed opposite to her.

Weak, tired sniffles. Harry's bed scowled at her, mocking her stupidity. Rapid, consuming blinks of her eyes.

A slow shuffle to his bed.

A toss of the pillow.

A ruffle of the sheets.

A heave of the mattress.

An invisibility cloak glimmered.


	5. Chapter 5

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

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To be invisible was an odd feeling. It wasn't like she hadn't done this before. But to be under the cloak, crouched as she practiced silently stalking around the room, she felt more vulnerable than she did crying her eyes out moments prior. It was like air, feeling the heaviness and knowing it was draped all around, but unable to see or know the proof that it was there. She very much knew she was invisible. Her reflection was gone; when she shook herself in front of the mirror to see if the rippling cloak revealed any shadowing or distortion of the surrounding area, there was minimal. The fabric had no stretch, when she pulled on a piece, the taught fibers glistened watery silver. She stroked the gossamer silk contemplating the wonders of how an artifact could truly render her invisible and testing the extent of its capabilities prior to trekking to the unknown friend or foe. She shuffled around, crouched so the fabric covered her feet. Her breaths came in muffled panting which meant she had reached her limits. Research was what she was good at and once she tested all variations of silently creeping around, she tucked the Marauder's Map into her empty robe pocket beside her wand and headed toward the seventh floor.

She admitted it was easier to navigate stealthily without her boys, huddled together as a trio and stepping on her toes or knocking bony elbows into her ribs. Hermione had confidently reached the left corridor in front of Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry, when the anxiety came back. Hermione had always suspected that the cloak wasn't as perfect as Harry raved. She hypothesized that it was not impervious to spell damage, yet without anyone to shoot a tickling charm at her while she was under it, she could not know. She respected Harry's privacy too much to meddle with a Potter heirloom to test her thoughts. Now it seemed regrettable.

She accepted the invisibility cloak wasn't a shield cloak easily enough. But as far as invisibility went, it still had more holes. First, the testing showed that there was slight disturbance when she moved the silvery silk fabric, like your eyes crossing when you rubbed them too hard. Second, Dumbledore had stared directly at Ron and Harry, that night so long ago in Hagrid's hut. Ron had accepted the all-knowing answer, but she believed maybe it was his keen sense of hearing or another magical means. After all, it did not silence the noises of scuffling boots and heavy breathing, which is why Hermione practiced and made sure she would not tire out her body's limits. If there were other magical means, she pondered whether the unplottable person was able to reveal her presence if she was under the cloak. She knew that the map showed she was still there, which meant it was a very likely possibility. It seemed the cloak and map were great in uplifting her confidence at first, but now she wasn't so sure they helped give her an advantage at all if the person that was in the castle had an ounce of intelligence.

Gathering that Gryffindor courage, she thought about how badly she needed to find the person. "I need to know", whispered her mind, channeling the message to the sentient walls of Hogwarts. She paused and paced, thinking the mantra like it was a complex spell she was memorizing.

And so when the door appeared, she gulped a dry lump down and prayed she could quickly enter and run to a corner fast enough to be undetected. If the door was there, clearly the person on the inside could see that someone was here. It was the ultimate test of courage and stupidity, to walk in like this. But she did.

Only she didn't walk.

She darted.

Hermione kept her head down and sped to the furthest corner near the entrance, containing the heavy breaths that threatened to spill forth. Her feet had been almost silent too. She was practically hunched over in a ball, the cloak gripped in her sweaty palms as she slowly wisped breaths past her thinned lips. Her eyes scanned the room.

Fred and George had once said the room became a broom closet for them when they hid from Filch. It had been the arena for their DA practice. It had the capabilities of expansion and change, and it seemed that the Come-and-Go room had adjusted the internal structure and scenery yet again. She was in a bathroom, eerily similar to Myrtle's haunting spot that the Chamber of Secrets was. The tap dripped a sticky, repetitive noise and plumbing smelled like soggy moss. She slowly walked. Investigation was as good as research, only more participatory. And so she went.

She cast the spell to reveal humans, and there was no response, as she expected. Hermione had checked the taps first. Ron and Harry had retold the tale hundreds of times, and though she was petrified during the actual events, she knew where to find Salazar's emblem. Only, it was not there.

She checked the stalls, the shallow pools underneath toilets that grew fuzz, unscrewed pipes near the sink and peered in the thin tubes that reeked of fried fish. The windowsills were searched, ruffling settled dust that made her eyes sting. There was a tub, too small to be compared to the prefects' tub but too large for a single person. It stood out too much, sitting there in the middle of the room like a focal point, beckoning her to fall into a nefarious trap. No sign of Salazar's symbol in the entire room.

It seemed that if there was no person, there had to be another reason a presence was detected. Or that meant she was in big trouble, too big to chew, as Tom Riddle or Voldemort was in the Chamber. Harry would not have gone without his belongings, which is why she _knew_ it couldn't be him.

The tub drew her attention; it was far too out of place to be in a moldy, unused loo. The tub was marble, uncommon to the stone masonry that she had grown accustomed to. The marble was black like the endless night sky, but with slivers of grey veins running along the insides. She thought it was quite beautiful honestly, and that just screamed suspicious. Like it had a compulsion charm or was going to be a trap if she touched it.

Hermione used the loo, maneuvering skillfully under the cloak. She hadn't gone in quite some time, and she mused that staring at the marble tub was pressing on her bladder, like a fear gland was inflamed. It gave her time to think about what to do about the chamber with its secrets and hidden foes, the mysterious tub that looked far too tempting to be safe, and whether it was possible to render an entire population invisible rather than make them disappear.

She had been in the Room of Requirement for hours when she realized why the tub might be there. Hermione required it. She had forgotten her bodily duties, and now she had begun to notice how stiff her face was with dried mucus and tears, and her clothes were rough and rank with stress-induced sweat. She graciously caressed the damp stone near the door, as if thanking the castle for being thoughtful.

Her suspicions had gone by the time she talked herself into accepting that she would not be able to wash herself with the cloak. She also felt it was disrespectful to wet it, knowing Harry was the only rightfully allowed to take it wherever he pleased.

There was no way she would have taken a bath knowing there was some unknown entity within the lavatory. She had checked top to bottom, over and over, was the chant that fueled her desire to freshen up. She felt it would be good to start planning her trip out of Hogwarts if she was clean in her body and mind. The chamber and the unknown inhabitant gave her the willies, so she pretended that it was just a quiet dip in the prefect's bath, after the others had gone to bed. She slipped her robe off and rested it on the marble ledge of the rectangular tub. On the robe she laid her wand, the map, and the cloak bundled into a ball. The water filled the silence, a rushing stream of heat and sound shattering the calm terror that she had been enveloped in for the past hours.

"I need to make sure no one can come in. I need to make sure I am safe. Please, I need somewhere I can be safe," Hermione murmured as she entered the steamy water. She begged the room to keep her safe in this vulnerable time, knowing that it had granted her peace once before by offering this lavatory to calm the tensions of the day's discoveries. Her muscles wept with relief. Eyes softly closed as she found ease for a few moments. She was rational enough to know that there was no guilt in relaxing her mind, because there were bigger fish to fry. She would sleep fitfully tonight, if at all, and most likely in the protection of the room she was currently in. Tomorrow she'd venture to London, if it took riding a broomstick or floo powder in a teacher's private room. Hermione would meet her parents and they would devise a plan to contact the international magical community if hers had gone. She had not even checked Hogsmeade, but seeing as the students, teachers, owls, ghosts, portraits and poltergeists were gone, she had no doubt the others nearby would be missing. Hopefully this was a localized phenomenon in Scotland and elsewhere was safe.

Her exhausted brain continued to chart, categorize, and plan methods to discover a solution and seek the truth. The warm water soothed her soul and she felt herself drifting off to sleep, using her precious bundle of cloaks and bits as a makeshift pillow.


	6. Chapter 6

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

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Hermione Granger was a prune, floating in a river. This was a slightly delirious metaphor she mustered through her groggy morning rambling. She woke in a bath tub feeling like she'd been soaking in a cauldron. She raised her fingers to her face and blinked wearily at the wrinkled tips. They look like little mountain ranges, came the muddled murmur deep in her brain. She agreed with a lackluster hum, flexing the fingers to tighten the wrinkled valleys and mountain tops. "Earthquake", she yelped while giggling as she wiggled her fingers frantically to splash the stagnant bathwater. She vaguely wondered if she had lost her mind from stress.

Pushing aside her dubious mental health status, she siphoned off the water from her body, a spell Lavender and Pavarti used daily for their hair, and put back on her stiff, messy robes. A quick scouring charm cleaned the robes to a pristine state, ruffling a puffy cloud of dust and debris with a pop. She gathered her belongings and shoved them deep within the folds of her pockets. Feeling a bit raw from her tender skin, she gave herself a second blast of wind to dry off the remaining dampness.

She opened the door, cautiously peeking her head out the door and looking both ways. Not a single person in sight. She let out a huff of irritation, disappointed the day prior was not a bad dream that resulted in sleepwalking to the Room of Requirement.

First thing she had to do was to get to Headmaster Dumbledore's office. She had already searched the Great Hall and other areas that turned up empty of inhabitants, but she still had access to the floo network and could directly travel to the Ministry of Magic in London. She directly made a beeline to his office in the Headmaster's Tower, bypassing the usual routes by cutting through the Astronomy Tower which was usually barren during the day. Hermione knew this was the fastest route, as the two largest towers were connected above the Transfiguration Courtyard. She had to get there fast because no matter the lack of others, there could be people out there wondering why Hogwarts was on lockdown. She needed Aurors and if it took all day, she was bent on spending the entire time convincing the Minister to aid her search, regardless of whether or not he took her serious or thought her childish.

She felt a familiar thrill that accompanied Christmastime as she thought about seeing her Mom and Dad again. This was another reason to make her feet quicken their pace. The quiet pitter-patter of stone and shoe colliding broke the empty silence. It wasn't so much empty as there was a sense of hollowness. She expected this from the castle, barren of bustling students and mingling conversationalist portraits, but the hollow castle was like a rain jug, filled with anticipation as it sat under a stormy sky waiting to be filled to the brim. That same feeling was here, in Hermione's mind and the sentient energies of Hogwarts itself.

She stood in front of the gargoyle, the grimacing stone face immortalized in a vicious snarl. She began listing off sweets frequently sold at Honeydukes, as rattled off by both Fred and George in a distant memory of a common room discussion. The gargoyles moved with a lethargic grinding sound only two stones rubbing against each other could make when she said pepper imps. A nervous hiss escaped her lips as she dared her legs to move towards the spiral staircase. Slow and steady, the legs did not fail. She stood at the doorway of the Headmaster's office, marveling the trinkets that lined the shelves. An astrolabe glistened under the morning sun that came in glossy rainbow rays through the mosaic windows. She could see hundreds of leather-bound texts, aged and rare. Her fingers ached to stroke their spines, but she ignored it.

The fireplace was large enough to fit three grown wizards, who would have to bow minimally when inside. That's how grand the size of the fireplace was, and it caused Hermione to gasp when she first sighted it. There were gilded vines, ornate spiraling designs embellishing the sides. It was so well-kept, shined enough that her face could reflect a mirror image. She wondered which house elf was in charge of the Headmaster's office and decided that they needed a special thank you, when she found time. Black soot charred only the bottom, where logs did not burn. Instead were coals, lumpy and round, piled like sea pebbles making mermaid towers. She stepped in. The floo powder was on a small trough made of precious metal, dangling on the left side of the fireplace about eye level.

A rustling came from a corner, then a rasping cough. Hermione froze with fear shooting up her backbone. "….Girl," came the throaty whisper, "you do not belong here."

Hermione gave a ragged breath, crossed between a hiccupping sob and terrified gasp. She stared in the direction the voice had come from, somewhere on the bookshelf.

"Indeed, I should think so."

Her head swiveled around with a neck-breaking snap. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stood at the doorway.

But was it him?


	7. Chapter 7

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

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She stared at him, drinking in his features for her subconscious to dissect.

"Headmaster." It was a statement, after many silent minutes of deduction and effortful reasoning. Better to acknowledge him as fact than aid any nefarious consequences if he learned she knew he was not who he seemed.

He was brilliant. His aura lent her peace and hope, a calming draught to her imbalanced mind. But she stood alert, wand hand fisting her lifeline. It seemed like him-looked like him-sounded like him.

But why had he been in the Chambers. How?

Where had everyone else gone? Things did not add up. And Hermione Granger was no stranger to the arts of arithmancy nor the muggle mathematics. Things did not add up at all.

He made no move to fight her-no move to even acknowledge her. Simply, he walked to the fine desk chair which was upholstered in velvet. Her knuckles were painfully aware of the death-grip. She kept a mindful eye of the floo powder trough which dangled slightly out of reach. Hermione made sure a single muscle did not move. Instead, she continued standing in the hearth of the fireplace, ever prepared to make a flighty departure from this sinister and surreal situation.

She watched Dumbledore.

He was sitting at his desk patiently stroking his billowy cotton beard. It seemed shorter than she remembered. In fact, Hermione began clinically categorizing every miniscule detail of his physical appearance that differed from the last time she saw him, which was rather recent thankfully. The braidwork in his beard was gone. She chalked it up to a simple fashion statement, since he had also forgone the beading or other fanciful décor he usually adorned his beard with. Another thing was that his beard hair was slightly shorter, trailing to midchest-a simple cutting charm possibly?

His face held a patient smile. It wasn't tense, suspicious, or nervous. She held those instead, for him.

The half-moon glasses shielded any darkness, instead only letting through brilliant twinkling aquamarine eyes. She held his stare. Her fingers relaxed their grip in her pocket but never left the vicinity of her wand. He looked away from their stalemate, as he began to shuffle around papers on his desk listlessly. Perhaps she made him nervous. She brushed the thought out of her head. Perhaps he was hiding any self-consciousness that would give him away. Her eyes narrowed into slits.

Whoever thought to imitate him did a poor job of copying, she considered with a keen eye.

Her hand inched towards the floo powder. She held a palmful of the fine sandy dust. Thousands of insignificant granules slipped through the cracks in her tight fist, falling with a soft hiss. She ignored it, settling for clutching the remainder as tight as possible.

"Before you go-" Hermione nearly squawked with terror. The bookshelf again. That sickeningly hoarse voice, rasping from invisibility. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for the speaker. She tried to not let Dumbledore out of her sights, using peripheral vision. He was politely blinking at her-as if this strangeness had not been real. She was on to him.

There. Under a tome the size of Warwick's Encyclopaedia of Germanic Fungi, a bundle of torn leather. Worn leather. Tired leather.

"Odd," it said with a gravely grunt. The sorting hat had sorted her. Called her odd. Sitting there like nothing happened, no one had disappeared, like she hadn't just broken into the Headmaster's office illegally, and like Hermione coming and going through their floo was a regular occurrence was what was odd.

She thoroughly agreed with his assessment, forgoing the original thought that it had insulted her.

Odd indeed.

Hermione's body began to ache from being poised with the alertness that came from predatory stalking. She felt like she was prey though. Even under the benevolent headmaster's kind eyes and knowing the sorting hat was merely an animated husk spelled from wandwork centuries prior. No more useful beyond his intended purpose. Surely he couldn't spring forth arms and legs to pursue and potentially murder her.

Again, that left her training her distrustful eyes on one Albus Dumbledore.

He smiled at her in a beckoning way. Like a trustworthy grandfather.

She noticed her fist held only an ounce of grains now. Floo powder glittered on the coals below her feet.

How long had she been standing here? She looked down at the dust-could she salvage a fistful?

A quick hand of hers shot back to the trough to find it empty.

Her throat was dry, like she'd swallowed all the floo powder.

She watched the not-headmaster through wide eyes, body betraying her passive suspicions. Instead, her wide eyes brimmed with fear and something akin to horror.

He was smiling at her, a tentative elderly one, as if she was a rabid stray dog found in an alley dumpster.

She'd bite him if she was a dog. Hard.

Instead, a very human Hermione stepped out the hearth and cautiously began her trek to his desk. Her legs protested with creaking joints, body fighting to flee in the opposite direction.

Her palm was raw from the strength of her grip on the coarse wand-she ignored it.

A chair was conjured. A simple stool, black like his soul no doubt.

She shuddered to think that this could have been avoided if she'd chosen to floo earlier instead of curiously watching the stupid hat behind her on that lonesome corner shelf.

"Sit, child." His voice was so pleasant she wondered if he'd spelled her to sap her willpower. Her bones wearily plopped into the seat. The bundle of parchment and cloak was pressed firmly along her thigh, pocketed and hidden away from his view.

They sat in silence long enough for her to feel comfortable enough to look away from his presence. Instead she was pleasantly surprised to see not only one but four snoozing headmasters from Hogwarts' past. The portraits were filled.

Had they been filled when she was on her way here? She perused her memory and could find no observation worthy of an answer. She hadn't looked for any portraits and their inhabitants.

She could see that the Headmaster had chapped lips, making him surprisingly more human than the wise wizard she'd exalted him to be. His hair frizzed too, at the ends, like hers did.

She focused on details. He clipped his fingernails regularly, the files on his desk alluded to Governor issues regarding funding for Care of Magical Creatures class. There was a curious telescope thing that pointed directly to the wall rather than an opening or window, leaving her to believe it was not really what it seemed.

Which brought her thoughts back to him.

This headmaster.

He was smiling pleasantly, as if he didn't realize she wasn't troubled. Instead, he was watching her like he expected something from her. Like…an explanation?

She cleared her throat. He beamed harder, more encouragingly. Surely Voldemort would not dare-she-say _grin_ at a mudblood, pretense unworthy no matter the cause.

Umbridge? She had a saccharinely sinister smile, the one where the corners of her lips curled like a fellywellow leaf. No, her eyes would have never been this docile. Nor would she have been so quiet and patient.

She watched Dumbledore almost angrily.

Drop the act, old man. Reveal yourself.

Instead, he summoned a dish of candies- Fizzing Whizbees, which were little chocolate shaped bees with a tangy fruit filling. She dare not eat one, for fear they were laced with poison.

He popped one in his mouth, chewing loudly with murmurs of appreciation.

Her eyes narrowed into even thinner slits.

She wanted to interrogate him. She wanted to bind him and stick him to a wall then forcibly strip him of his nefarious lies. So many questions stewed in her brain. Why are the portraits back? Where did everyone go? Why were you in the Chambers? Why aren't you letting me leave through the Floo? What is going on?

That would invoke a sense of dependency though. As if she trusted him for answers, which she very much didn't. So instead, she watched him lick his fingers like a child, humming a quiet murmur.

When he finished, he set his wand on the desk in front of them. Directly between them.

Trust? She was not ignorant enough to believe this was a form of him showing his trust. He could probably wipe the floor with her wandlessly and wordlessly before she could blink. No, a show of trust from the most untrustworthy.

She forced a small smile, feeling like her lips would crack while doing so.

It seemed to work.

"Now dear, I would like to know what you were doing here when I came in."

Could she perchance use the remaining floo powder to drown herself or at least damage her throat enough to not have to talk?

"I was going to London." Vague, yet informative she hoped.

"Ah, London. I've a map of the London Underground on my knee. Funny things-scars."

She forced another smile, accompanied with a hoarse sort of chuckle.

"Were you going for any particular reason? A visit to Hogsmeade is naught but a week away. Surely your shopping could wait?" He was smiling now, eyes twinkling like beady sea glass.

"I was going to the ministry." No point in lying, since he seemed not to care too much. Then again, the worst actors were the best liars.

"How lovely! I was on my way there as well. Would you care to accompany me?" A shudder slithered down her spine. Corruption. Politics. Infiltrated. She willed her left eye to stop the incessant twitching.

Hermione tried to calm herself. Deep, even breaths.

"No sir," Damn, her voice was shrill and a few octaves too high, "I'd like to just go back to my commons now. I'll just write a very…strongly worded letter."

He grinned at her, giving her a view of his full set of teeth. In for the kill. She felt like she'd throw up.

He was laughing at her it seemed. Playing with her?

"My dear, how odd it is-that I can't seem to recall your sorting." The undertones held something threatening, if she dared look. But he made it sound like an issue of senility. She pointedly looked at her Gryffindor patch that was embroidered on the robe, sitting on her right breast above the glistening prefect's badge.

Of course you can't recall it…you aren't him. You weren't there.

"I-I'm sorry. Surely Madam Pomfrey has a potion to help with memory loss." Perfectly obtuse, Hermione pretended. Not a sliver of disrespect.

"I think it's time you tell me the tru-", four short knocks on the door.

He looked up sharply, letting his aggravation seep through finally.

Hermione's heart was in her throat. Surely if someone was knocking, it meant others were here. Would they be saviors or more to join in bringing forth her end? Sweaty fingers gripped her wand nearly at snapping point. People are back. She wasn't alone. A grim determination lodged itself in her belly. She'd fight her way out if she had to. Her new goal was to leave this room alive and get to the Quidditch patch as fast as possible. The brooms.

"Please do come in," said the slightly irritated Headmaster imposter. She vowed she'd fly all the way to London, even if it took days. So long as she could leave the room in one piece. She shot a nervous glance to the door which creaked open with an ominous slowness.


	8. Chapter 8

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

I apologize for the delay in updates. Also the last chapter had the error "quidditch patch" where I meant pitch. Thank you again for all your kind reviews and I will continue to do my best!

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"Dumbledore, I refuse to have these two charlatans disrupting my lessons and-"Hermione nearly shook from excitement. Professor McGonagall. Her Scottish brogue threatened to spill forth as she continued to complain to the Headmaster. He continued to try to placate her, cutting her off with soft hushing sentences to appease her fury.

A trill of excitement burst forth from her heart. Her transfiguration professor looked at Hermione briefly, mouth puckering with distaste. "Headmaster, I need to speak with you-" she paused to glance bitterly behind her, "_privately_."

Professor McGonagall looked the same. Her face was tightly drawn, hair pulled back in a severe bun, robes a deep forest green velour. Relief was all that Hermione could understand. The suspicious glances of Dumbledore were still in the corner of her eye. Was this even Minerva McGonagall?

Hermione poised her body to dart through the open door. She forced herself to think. No matter her exhaustion or terror, she needed to think. She watched Professor McGonagall purse her lips impatiently while shooting another look at the door. This means that she's waiting on someone to come up to the door-possibly the two charlatans she was referring to. It could also mean that she was waiting for more disguised death eaters to join the rendezvous.

Hermione felt breathless and empty. Was this her fate? To be murdered by the faces she put the most trust and respect into? These imposters, would they kill her slowly or torture her into madness like the Longbottoms? There was no floo powder. The windows were purely decorative, most likely not even able to be opened-similar to most of the mosaic windows in the castle. She couldn't leave through the door because the Not-McGonagall was blocking the only entrance with reinforcements coming behind her.

Her stomach made a deafening gurgle in the terse silence. A blush took to her face, creeping slowly from her neck to her ears. The transfiguration professor spared her a frown. The headmaster, on the other hand, smiled like he'd won the lottery. All prior frustrations he had felt were washed away as he smiled benevolently and ushered her to come in and sit down. A cushioned chair was conjured. Minerva took a seat adjacent to Hermione, drawing her long skirts tautly into a fisted bunch in her lap as she crossed one leg over another. The two imposters watched her warily, as her stomach groaned in dramatic agony.

Hermione stared blankly at the two, as they silently communicated a sense of irritation and urgency. Her time was running out-the charlatans would come bursting in soon. Minerva's face seemed less haggard she noticed, which meant maybe the hour's worth of polyjuice was coming to an end or the glamours applied were by someone who had not been around the transfiguration professor in about 10 years. She looked youthful in a mockingly fake manner. Her face looked like the skin was pulled behind her ears, wrinkles smoothed out leaving small fine lines around the most used parts of her face. She even had makeup on, some coal smeared on her upper eyelids. Someone masquerading as McGonagall had no idea who they were wearing. Hermione's lips curled subconsciously like she was baring her teeth like a dog. A deep sneer worthy of the Malfoys settled on her face.

"I have to use the loo." Succinctly put, she commended herself mentally. It helped save the quiver of her voice. The headmaster façade slipped for a moment, crushing his features in biting anger at her. It looked wrong on his face. She wanted to grab him by his beard and fling him through the wall. How could they continue to play this terrible game? How much longer would it last?

The headmaster waved his left arm, gesturing obscurely to a shelf behind him. It unhinged and swung open. "I'm afraid, my dear, you are not going to be able to leave my office until we have discussed your manner of entering Hogwarts and impersonating our schoolchildren. The loo is straight down the corridor." He then shifted his attentions to his accomplice, pretending to ignore how Hermione's legs knocked into each other violently as she stood up and stumbled out the room as fast as she could. She could hear their hurried whispering as she fled down the corridor inside the bookshelf. It was a completely stone hallway, with no ins-or-outs beside the obvious entrance and the door on the other end that she hoped was a water closet. If not, it could be a direct doorway to a torture chamber where they'd extract the truths or information they could find on Harry and milk her brain for all it contained until she was an empty, drooling husk. Her stomach growled and churned, from anxiety bowel movements and hunger pangs.

The irony was not lost on her. Fake Dumbledore had accused her of impersonating a student when he was the real villain here. She wished this was all a terrible nightmare, from far too much studying, but her mind could never create such a complex delusion. This fate was worse than death. The unknown fate.

Her fingers trembled as they turned the brass knob at the end of the hall. Steadying herself, she threw the door open with as much force as possible. Her wand was out and ready for firing. She hoped the force would knock out any unsuspecting foes on the other side of the wooden door. The clank against stone was sharp and echoed like the blood-rush ringing in her ears. A lone toilet and ornate silver mirror hung benignly in a modestly empty room. A faucet jutted out from the mirror's bottom edge, browning with algae or moss of some sort. It looked like an abandoned bathroom, uncleaned yet not dirty-just forgotten.

She used the loo. She knew she shouldn't have, but she worried she'd spill her bladder at the sight of actual combatting. It also killed time, which wasn't a good idea considering the foes were regrouping outside the very bookshelf she was tucked away in. She was essentially backed in, with no way out. She slowly washed her hands, staring at her reflection in the murky mirror. She was slightly startled to realize how deranged she looked. Her hair was a tangled nest, her eyes were shifty and bloodshot, uniform rumpled and her face was a pale white, leaving the bags under her eyes to look bruised and puffy.

She looked like a death eater hidden amongst children.

Hermione pondered the mirror, letting the tap water burn her hands in a soothing manner. She could shatter it and use the shards as secondary knives, if they captured her wand. But it could cut her easily, reducing her ability to fight back. She could try to blast a hole through the wall, but the corridor could have led her deeper into the castle, requiring more energy to blast more holes. The Headmaster's Office was far too protected with ancient enchantments to fathom any blown walls or windows.

Her only option was to fight. To take both imposters on and get out of the office-then she'd run to the quidditch pitch and grab a broom. Flying was the lesser of two evils, an obvious choice.

She turned and left the room, wand hand repeatedly coming to wipe on her robes as her palms perspired with nerves. How many more death eaters had come to join them?

She walked down the stone corridor that led back into Dumbledore's office, pausing at the opening. She could hear the Not-McGonagall speaking in a raised voice. She sounded angry.

–"You're endangering everyone, Albus! This has got to sto-No, I can't keep this charade up any-I said no. We have responsibilities. Oaths!"

Hermione had heard enough. McGonagall's Death Eater was finished with the charade. Well, that made two of them. She stayed hidden behind the hinged bookshelf. She could not hear the Headmaster's response because his voice was grave and low.

"He has the Mark! Geneviève saw it when she was administering Skelegrow to his arms."

She barely caught a murmur of 'Death Eater Albus' responding.

"No-no, Poppy did not see it. She was with another patient. Albus, you can't be seriously denying her allegations. This is a serious threat! We have to investigate it further."

"She-No-How do you know? Well…"

Professor McGonagall's voice quieted down to a volume Hermione could no longer eavesdrop on.

Death Eaters talking about the Dark Mark in obvious alarm? Maybe they were worried it was one of their relatives or someone too young was usurping their honor. Hermione's wand poked through the slot where the doorway hinged the bookshelf and allowed it to swing freely. She aimed a stunner at the back of the Headmaster's head, the small amount she could see while peering through the sliver. She wasn't versed in nonverbal magic. She'd have to yell and alert them…but then it'd be one-on-one combat. She liked those odds better than having two unnamed death eaters attacking her while wearing the skins of the most prestigious professors England had ever seen.

"STUPEFY", she yelled and forced as much power as she could into the unsuspected spell.

The headmaster turned to her quickly and deflected it with far too much speed someone with a body his age should be able to.

She used the doorframe bookshelf as a shield, preparing for an onslaught of offensive spells. Her chest hurt from the heavy breathing she did.

Nothing came.

Instead, was unearthly silence. She wondered if they were creeping closer. She peeked out the crack in the doorframe again, only to see the recently preoccupied seating empty in front of the Dumbledore look-a-like. Where had McGonagall gone?

The headmaster's double craned his neck to see her, blinking at her over his rounded spectacles.

"She has gone, child. Fear no attacks. We need to talk." He croaked, in a calming manner.

Hermione did not know what to do. If she called his bluff, she'd be ambushed by someone she couldn't see. If she didn't, he could disappear from her view, leaving her with nothing in her sights and two hidden enemies. She rather liked the idea of getting closer to the door, exiting his office. It wasn't blocked, barely ten paces from his desk. She could stun him up close maybe at the better angle.

She stepped out from behind the bookcase and slowly walked to the desk again. She made sure not to take her eyes off of him, ever, even though it made her more vulnerable to the missing McGonagall.

He was clearly the more adept adversary, if it was the fake McGonagall that was having death eater doubts.

She sat back down in the seat, eager but trying to hide it outwardly.

"How much did you hear? Were you curious who we've discovered? I think the cloak you've stolen would have been more fitting if it was from a Ravenclaw." He was acting nonchalant.

"I…"Hermione did not know how to respond. Better this empty conversation than a full-blown duel.

"Yesterday was the final game of the year. Could you tell me who won?" He asked it conversationally, pretending to be senile again. Testing her for knowledge she did not contain. There was no game yesterday. She knew for a fact.

"Gryffindor." If the death eater was found injured from quidditch, needing Skelegrow, it must have been someone from Slytherin. Not that she was saying all Slytherins are bad, mind you, but Hermione knew enough statistics to know it couldn't be a Hufflepuff. It wasn't the most intellectually charged answer, just an obvious and impulsive one that sufficed.

He hummed in agreeance, happy that the answer she guessed was correct.

"It seems during the locker room, post-game, we discovered there was a scuffle going on. The Slytherins were not very happy with losing their final chance at the house cup, with the Gryffindors baiting them at every turn. You know how it goes," He smiled and gestured to the Gryffindor emblem embroidered on her robe's chest. "Anyway, Neil Crockett was injured and taken to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey's assistant, Geneviève Oolong, made a startling discovery."

"Why are you telling me this?" She cut in, unable to help herself. Was he wasting time so they could report that they'd captured Harry Potter's Mudblood girlfriend? Was he toying with her for some more nefarious reason, like implanting memories he'd alter when he finished wiping her mind from torture?

He ignored her question.

"Neil was sporting a very nifty branding he got from a club. We can't capture him, as he disappeared from his cot later that night after receiving treatment, but we also now have 3 eyewitnesses who have been close enough to identify the insignia."

"I was just on my way to report the incidence to the ministry, when you popped up. You see, my student is engaged in illegal activities, and suddenly has vanished when he has been caught. And now an unidentified student has appeared, as soon as he vanished, and was caught breaking into my office."

"You can see why this is troubling to an old man like me. I give everyone a chance, and you attempted to stun me from behind. We can sort this out at the ministry, like adults, or you can be taken directly to the Azkaban holding cells until we've unraveled this little mystery."

Hermione stared blankly, seeing grey. Azkaban made her tongue feel heavy and sandy. She swallowed a dry gulp of air into her mouth, nose exhaling a streaming hiss. The death eater was going to tell the ministry that she was a death eater, to get the suspicions off that Crockett guy.

She got up to leave. Her bones felt like grinding steel, machinery that hadn't been greased in years.

Albus Dumbledore also got up. He towered over her, with only the desk separating the two.

She made a move to the floo, deciding that her best means of escape was to no longer antagonize the look-a-like. He was a means to an end, getting her to the ministry which was the final goal. She could sort out the rest once she had Mr. Weasley to vouch for her or her parents contacted, since she was underage. It would all be fine. This was what her plan was from the beginning, wasn't it? ...But still, Azkaban. She gritted her teeth as the elderly Dumbledore's hand skimmed her elbow, leading her closer to the fireplace. He did not make any effort to restrain her, as their skin barely grazed.

A quick thought popped into her head. What an idiot, Granger! She scolded herself for being so asinine. The map! It could tell her who was hiding behind the façade of Albus Dumbledore, and she had thrown away a perfectly good moment to check it while she was in the loo earlier. In fact, she could have snuck out under the invisibility cloak instead of attacking like a brazen moron. An angry huff escaped her lips, as she mentally added it to the list of things Hermione Granger would never live to forget. She wasn't smart enough to solve this alone. The boys were always the reason they came out unscathed. She thought back to the basilisk in the pipes, and how she had failed back then as well.

A glittering handful of floo powder was handed to her, breaking her from her thoughts, and she quickly scooped some up. It slithered between the cracks of his fingers as the exchange was awkward from forced contact with each other.

He stepped into the hearth with her, without touching her but hunched forward so his tall stature would fit into the small space she occupied with him.

"The Min-" A swift kick to his groin and she pushed him out as he scrambled to cover his pain, as any human male would. The sheer fear that shrouded her body was ice cold from the murderous anger she saw in his eyes. Albus Dumbledore should look at only one person that way.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Hermione Granger burned away.


	9. Chapter 9

I hope you like it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot.

I apologize for the delay in updates. Two Chapters in 1 Day! Thank you again for all your kind reviews and I will continue to do my best!

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She apparated.

It was a trail she knew most accomplished wizards could follow, so she did it repeatedly and sporadically.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

She continued to apparate.

Her exhaustion was buzzing with adrenaline, feeling like a caffeine-driven exam review but amplified with electricity. She went to France, where her parents took her for a holiday frequently. She went to Oxford, and a myriad of other places in muggle England that she had visited or shopped. She went to eleven different places before her energy started to deplete fully. Her mind was too fluttery with frantic thoughts and elevated fears. Destinations became blurred idealistic representations of her romanticized memories of the places. Her determination to hide and run was most definitely still there, but it trumped the determination to reach the place since she was already preparing to flee once she touched down. Deliberation was also flighty, resulting in her final stop.

The Forest of Dean was eerily foggy, as if the mist had settled to hide the ground and hide Hermione as well. It was thick, sliced and distorted from her sudden appearance. She broke out in a sprint, zigzagging through trees when she felt she'd run too far in one direction. She paid no mind to the spliced fingertips that freely bled as she continued to pump blood faster in her body. After what felt like half an hour of running, Hermione sat down near a lake most likely drained off into the stream she laid near. Her chest was seized by fire, skin drenched in sweat and robes stick and plastered. She found herself stripping down to cool herself and she lay on the shallow riverbed where rounded pebbled protruded in her backbone.

Hermione Granger wondered if she could die here. It would be so easy to lay down in this peaceful, sorrowful forest, a graveyard of trees as old as time that were hidden by heartier, youthful ones. She missed her friends and her family, and teachers and school. Her back ached from the rocks she lay on. Time stood still as she gazed up at the canopy above her, a dusky blue tint from the oncoming night. The sun was going to sleep. She wanted to as well. So weary were her bones. Her spliced injuries were still bleeding but not as terribly, since her heart rate had slowed. Sweet oblivion, how simple it would be for her to defy logic for once, to not fight for what was right and instead opt for what was easy.

She hoped Headmaster Dumbledore was safe, wherever he was-the real him. And Professor McGonagall too. And Harry. And Ron. And every other person she hadn't seen or heard from in what felt like decades. She was so hungry. Seconds felt like eternity. Her core did not feel like it had enough energy to even say, "Accio Fish."

A silvery grey fish flopped frantically on the rocks beside her head, fighting for its life. She stared into the eyes, wide and glossy. A few twitches before it lay still and forever silent. Hermione Granger envied the fish, before her fingers shakily tore under its scaly gills to rip the head from its body. The head was tossed back into the water. She peeled flesh from the thin and pointy bones. She could use them as sewing needles if she needed stitches, she thought absentmindedly. Sushi-the freshest and softest tender flesh-sashimi. She tried not to think about the eyes of the fish she had murdered, how helpless and scared they had looked in the last moments.

"Maybe when all this is over, I can become a vegetarian-to repent." She babbled through a mouthful of fish. "Wandless and nonverbal. Wow," came a later mumble. It tasted metallic and a scale lodged itself in her teeth, but she kept on picking until there was nothing remaining aside from the intestinal tract and guts. "Harry, you'd have been strong enough to summon five of these. Or merciful, to decapitate it with a simple wandstroke." She used a rib bone to pick the scale out her front teeth. "Ron, you'd have thought with your stomach first, and made sure that we had cooked it."

She tossed the remains into the water, and watched forlorn as it washed downstream.

"Any you, Hermione, would have saved those remains to boil as fish soup. You should be smart enough to utilize all your resources." She laughed a bitter, harsh sound.

She healed the wounds later as the last light was extinguished from the sky. She was too scared to burn anything to keep her warm from the summer chill, for fear that the death eaters had tracked her. It would signal her whereabouts through the trees, like smoke signals. Or camping muggles would come to her aid, thinking it was an emergency flair, and they'd alert the authorities which would alert the corrupted ministry.

That night she used her robe as a blanket, starched and stiff with dried sweat from her earlier jaunt. Atop that was the invisibility cloak, to shield her from predators. She cried herself to sleep, hidden amongst the jagged rocks that lined the widening stream north of where she first settled, curled up in a tight ball like Crookshanks did whenever she would read to him. He always favored their potions texts, most likely because pickled field mice or dicing rat tails was a common phrase that would pop up. Oh Crooks.

Never once did she think to check the Marauder's Map, to learn the true identity of those lingering in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.


End file.
